The Short Happy Life of Kirkwall's Seneschal
by Corkerite
Summary: The story of love and loss behind Bran and Serendipity's cameo in "Mark of the Assassin." An entry into the "Mark of the Assassin" fanarts contest.


For so long, he had been afraid.

Afraid of upsetting the wrong cadre of nobles. Afraid of Ferelden refugees flooding the city with cheap labor, causing unrest among the Kirkwallers. Afraid of the kingmaker who killed the last viscount and made the next one. Afraid of the qunari. Afraid of the mages, afraid of the templars. The status quo had to be maintained, assiduously, delicately, or else there would be fire and chaos.

And then, there _was_ fire and chaos. And Marlowe died, and the kingmaker ceased her pretense and ruled directly. And the unnatural horrors grew worse, and the nobles were discontent, and every morning brought new things to fear.

So every evening, he took himself to the Blooming Rose, to lose himself for a little while. He was well-known there as a debauched jade, someone who'd try anything once, just for the novelty. And that was how he'd approached Serendipity, their first night together: a new thing to try, a rare and unusual variation.

He remembered that now, watching her exit the Rose to his waiting carriage, and he felt ashamed.

She paused to allow the footman to open the door for her, as if she were a high lady born to such things. Gracefully, she accepted a hand to help her up the steps, and smiled brilliantly at him as she ducked through the door. "I still think you must have lost a bet," she said, eyes alight, but with worry creasing their corners.

He took her hand to press an avid kiss to her long, elegant fingers. "Never think that," he said, because he was no longer afraid.

Eyeing him quizzically, Serendipity arranged herself on the bench next to him, and he rapped the wall to signal the coachman to go. She'd tied her short dark hair back in two tails - she would not, he knew, have worn it in any way that might have been taken as an attempt to cover her ears. He was disappointed, but only because it meant he'd be unable to run his fingers through it.

"Bran?" she asked. "Are you... feeling well?" It was his habit to be caustic, not kind, and she had adapted, providing him with a verbal sparring partner his equal or better.

"I have never felt better in my life," he said.

"Well," Serendipity preened for effect. "Aren't you the charmer tonight?"

He descended from the carriage first, then helped her down. Together, they walked into the gardens of Chateau Haine.

She paused, just inside the gate, as if she expected him to suddenly send her back to the carriage. It wouldn't be out of character for some of the games he favored, games of stinging words as much as ringing slaps, games where his decisions went unchallenged or where all the decisions were made for him, where there were no consequences once he got up and left.

But this wasn't a game. And he was ready to damn the consequences.

His trips to the Rose were old news, no longer really worthy of interest. But that didn't mean they wouldn't stop and stare when they began to circulate arm in arm, the seneschal and the elven prostitute. It was one thing to go to the Rose, and another thing entirely to bring the Rose into Society.

And it was glorious. He wondered if this was how Andraste felt as she approached the pyre, buoyant with something greater than fear. For this one ebullient night, he felt free, unstoppable, powerful.

And he owed it all to the marvelous woman on his arm.

He introduced her politely to everyone he stopped to speak with. She smiled, face full of strength, and was pleased to meet them, as easy and natural as if she'd been a courtier all her days. And when they flinched - nearly all of them flinched - he aimed his barbs at them. He made enemies that night, on her behalf.

She finally pushed him back against the castle wall, behind a screen of greenery. "Why?" she asked, voice bending musically with curious confusion.

He reached out to trace the line of her jaw, then slid his hand back to one of her pigtails. He pulled, not roughly but firmly, to tilt her head back. "Kiss me," he said.

She stood tiptoe, leaning forward into him, the wall cold and hard at his back. Her hands were at his shoulders, dark hair was silken under his fingers, and bound with a blue ribbon. He reached his other arm around to embrace her, burning the weight of her in his arm into his mind, tracing the smoothness of her shoulders with his fingertips.

Her clever, clever lips were on his, wicked tongue tracing teasing arcs here and there, and she smelled of oranges and lavender.

He let go of her hair and pushed her just slightly away, holding her by the shoulders so he could, at last, store up the memory of her eyes.

Then he turned her gently away from him and pulled her back to his chest. "Because," he answered her question, "I wanted you to know that I love you."

She made a sort of a small sighing sound and said his name, sadly.

He rested his forehead against her crown. "I thought it was an infatuation. I've ridden those through before; giddy schoolboy affections that burn bright and short, and then Lusine is recommending someone new. It's... not an infatuation. I would put you in a Hightown apartment, secure a stipend - for actual work, if you wished it, or for nothing at all if you didn't. And I would take you with me to every ball, every party, and damn all their staring eyes. But words... words are easily had." He had to stop; his breathing threatened to hitch and his throat to close up. Serendipity slowing shook her head. "So for once... for once, I decided to _do_."

"It wasn't needful."

"It was. For me, I think, if not for you. I... need for you to believe me."

"I do," she said. "I... are we done, then?"

The ache in his chest made him sick, but he still had this miraculous courage, her gift to him. "Yes," he said. They both knew why: Serendipity loved Katriela, and Katriela loved Serendipity. Her heart was not for him, and seeing her with that knowledge would be too painful.

"Then, knowing that I never expect another sovereign out of you: I like you, you kinky bastard. It's been a good run."

He tightened his arms around her, just before he let her go.


End file.
